


Equipoise

by Impressioniste



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impressioniste/pseuds/Impressioniste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he had to do was count to ten… and remember not to breathe. Endgame, character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equipoise

It was such a small thing, to end a life.

Anders had brought enough people back from the brink of death to know the frailty of life, the ease with which vital organs and arteries could be pierced, torn, or cut, the irreparable damage that a tiny sliver of metal could do. He had always considered himself a healer, despite the cold, hard truth that life seemed determined to ruthlessly spit back into his face—the irony that he often healed and hurt in equal measure.

He had spent the last seven years of his life dancing back and forth across the edge of a blade, and here at long last, had finally come to intimate terms with the point—of the blade, at least, if not his entire life.

When the cold bite of steel pierced his flesh, he knew had the knowledge and skill to stop it. A single breath of mana could fill him with the energy to stanch the flow of blood, cauterize and mend the severed flesh and arteries, and keep the fluid that was quickly bleeding into his lungs from forcing him to drown.

A single breath could save him—it would take hardly any effort at all. He used to count his breaths and heartbeats until the numbers bled together, back when he was stuck in a dank templar dungeon sweating cold amongst the rats. He had counted to hundreds and thousands before everything began to blur and whirl and spin around him, echoing in the darkness. It was far less effort than that.

A single breath was nothing.

Justice was cold and silent within him, resting like the dead. His need for vengeance was sated, the unbalanced scales of righteousness overturned, at last. Now, things could be set right; order could be restored.

All he had to do was count to ten… and remember not to breathe.

Counting to one was easy. The sharp sliver of pain distracted him. Two and three stung, then filled him with warmth. By four, his eyes were heavy. On five, his magic surged within him, but he refused to let it come forth. Six and seven echoed inside his head as his cheek pressed against something hard; he felt oddly calm, grateful for a place to finally rest. He closed his eyes and thought of eight, as the sounds all around him faded away, soft and hollow in the distance. Nine washed over him in a rush, like a cool, dark blanket of relief. A twinge of regret came just before ten, followed by a desperate jolt of panic. He opened his mouth to gasp for one final breath, but it was far too little, too late.

A small splash of blood stained his paling lips as his last breath slipped away, disappearing into the smoke that rose over Kirkwall, mingling with the chaos and casting shadows against the moon.


End file.
